


You will mend my heart

by angelfiregirl80



Series: Prompts [52]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Angst with a Happy Ending, John's chair, M/M, Memories, Post-TFP, Sad, Sherlock's Chair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 05:22:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelfiregirl80/pseuds/angelfiregirl80
Summary: Sorry if you receive a ton of messages about this post, but AO3 had some difficulties while posting... Love you all. Happy Sherlock!





	You will mend my heart

Broken hearted, that is the factual definition for how he is feeling, utterly broken hearted… He looks around and watches the flat, his flat for so long, his and John’s for such short time, completely destroyed. John’s chair lying under a heap of rubble, hidden, destroyed, signifying everything that had gone wrong with his life, that life that Mary had granted him.

Trying to take a deep breath, that still hurts even though it’s been a few weeks since John punched him so hard, he fumbles in his mind as he tries to enter his mind palace, to find a bit of peace, but he has known none since he jumped from Bart’s almost five years ago. Nightmare ridden nights, only when he’s not fighting the craving of shooting up whatever he might be able to find under his brother’s nose. Yes, he was being watched 24/7, but he had managed to secure a small stash, but now, he didn’t have the energy to look under the rubble, or the desire to arouse suspicion of this few lingering, alone moments he had in what once had been his home…

Looking back at the heap of rubble over John’s chair he finds himself reminiscing about the many times his heart have been broken. New memories flood back of his beloved Redbeard, trusted friend, loving companion, deep, green eyes, a curly red head, soft voice, all little Sherlock ever needed as a young boy of six, another attempt to a deep breath and the still hard reminder that even a “best friend” can attempt to kill you when you have just ruined his life… If only John knew… he would have probably hit him harder.

Drifting away, his mind takes him to the second time he actually felt his heart break, John’s denial hurt as much as the unexpected flare of disappointment Sherlock felt that first night at Angelo’s, confirming only what Sherlock had long feared, he only deserved rejection, he was a character that most would be embarrassed of being seen with…

Another glance and it seemed as if John’s chair was asking for his help, for one last attempt to be rescued from under all that rubble; all that shit that had fallen on them, one last attempt to save John Watson’s life… All those years wasted, fearing the growing feeling, wanting to die either out of embarrassment, loneliness and longingness “We’re not a couple” repeated incessantly during long and lonely nights, wishing the impossible while his flatmate slept blissfully ignorant of this growing feelings and desperation…

The scene at the bank flashes across his eyes. “Colleague”, the word felt like a punctured lung… he had one while away, was it in Italy? The memory is fussy, days lost at some unknown hospital, after being rescued from a savage beating… still, that didn’t hurt as much… yes… he was broken hearted. And the words had done nothing to lessen the growing feeling; they had only made the longing harder to live with.

What had salvaged the situation at some point, and had given him hope was Joh’s reaction at the pool, his heart hammered hard and fast when he was the soldier reaching for the enemy, yes, his heart had broken when he saw him appear from behind those doors, but it wasn’t a comparable pain as the one he felt, along with a surge of nausea when he saw the semtex vest strapped to his chest. His heart stopped beating altogether, only to beat madly when they locked eyes and John asked for help.

Then the illusion was shattered, it hadn’t mind they were willing to die together, he had left with Sarah on a failed attempt to be intimate without Sherlock around; and when it failed, Sherlock was to blame once more… Then the bloody Woman, The Woman, one single attempt to forget, to get distracted, to stop the nagging feeling that kept on growing steadily no matter how many women John chose to run after… Then came Baskerville, his almost confession… the regret, the fear, and that longingness that had invaded his entire being since that fateful day at Bart’s morgue…

But what had broken his heart beyond repair was John’s voice on the phone, the day of the fall. That day he realised his mistake, he should have said something, done something, overcome his fear, understand the signals, realise that John felt the same way, that he should have said those three little words that could have made all the difference in his world…

He opens his eyes once more and blinks at the piercing light coming from between the boards covering the missing windows and not for the first time he wishes he could turn the time back and make the best of those “missing years”. Yes, it wasn’t either good or right dwelling on bygones, but the sight of the flat had him remembering both the good and the bad times…

He looks down again and his eyes land on his chair, and as given as sentiment as he is now, he could swear his chair is reaching for John’s, in one last attempt to protect it, save it from what was to come, as if knowing that it depended on Sherlock to save John… And the wedding flashed before his eyes… John’s stag night, the many lost opportunities, John saying “I do”, the kiss, Sholto, his love confession, the dance, the baby… and John’s eyes, breaking his heart once more with the realisation that all was over, no turning back, no second chances… ending the night with a joke, a slight mockery of his feelings… his undying love…

He laughs humourlessly at the memory and realises how many times he has allowed his heart to be broken by John, the last nail to his coffin not the beating at the morgue, but the note, the blasted note where he said he wished they had never met… He tries to inhale deeply once more, only to be reminded of worst times… He clutches his ribs and winces at the lingering pain… It had taken a bit longer to feel better, but it was understandable, particularly because of the explosion… he had landed on the awning but he broke John’s fall when they slid down to the street…

The chair is there, at his feet, not realising what he’s doing, he stoops down and reaches for it, feeling the soft fabric under his fingers and feeling all those long denied feelings once more… Yes, his heart is broken, this safe haven where he made a life with the love of his life for so little, and yet so long, is destroyed, like his heart, but he know, that as much as his heart, it can be repaired, put back together…

He lingers for another second, breathing the flat in, knowing it will be back to its former glory, but that this time it will be better… No matter what, it will be better. He stands, smooths his trousers and turns… John’s there, standing at the open door, arms and eyes wide open, for him… “The crew is here, love. Ready to let them in?” He smiles and Sherlock’s knows, he knows, that no matter how broken his heart is, John is there to piece it back. _John will be here to mend my heart._             

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if you receive a ton of messages about this post, but AO3 had some difficulties while posting... Love you all. Happy Sherlock!


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